


making wishes in the dark

by childrenbehave



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 05:51:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/childrenbehave/pseuds/childrenbehave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘Does Hammerhead have the same bus as us? Like, are the bunks in the same places?’ [Rockband AU]</p>
            </blockquote>





	making wishes in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> This isn’t the rockband au we meant to write. Ridiculous fluff, oops.

_tiiiiiiiiired gonna crashon the bus_

Zayn looks at the text and shrugs, then knocks his elbow into Niall’s and points at the screen. Damn Liam and his vowel abuse; Zayn is fighting a yawn now and Zayn was _fine,_ just _fine_ before he read the damn text. 

‘Yo,’ Niall says, and really. His accent was never made for that. ‘Working up a thirst over here, mate.’

‘Yeah, for your daily recommended of beer,’ Zayn shoots back, then rubs at the back of his neck and follows into the car that’s going on to the some ‘really fucking epic’ rock club in Berlin. He itches a tiny bit to head back into the venue - their kit isn’t entirely away and what if someone messes with the way he’s got the snare tilted or breaks a pedal or - until Niall steals a drumstick from his back pocket and smacks him on the head with it hard enough that Zayn winces and gets in the damn car. 

* 

Louis barrels into Harry and Ed with a whoop. ‘Did you see when -’

Ed and Tom share a look that says _we were there. We were_ all _there_ , but Ed says it with a hand on Harry’s hip and Tom rolls his eyes from where he’s curled up on the opposite couch, somehow tiny and claiming the whole bloody couch at the same time. 

‘You mean when we -’

Lou sits in Harry’s lap and throws his weight to left to tip them both off of Ed and Harry clambers to sit on top of him instead. It barely works, because Harry’s had another growth spurt in the night apparently and all his t-shirts are leaving strips of torso bare between the hem and his jeans - not that their fans mind that. Or he’s run out of clothes and he’s stealing Louis’s again.

‘Yes, exactly, it was so -’

They look at each other and Louis can feel the pain that means he’s got a minor infection in one of his piercings coming on when he grins, which means he should probably turn in a bit earlier. Fuck it. They’re only young once, right? 

And they’ve got everything they want somehow. Almost.

Harry giggles into his shoulder, lets out an explosive breath and kicks his feet. Which could be lifeboats for most seafaring vessels, so Ed and Tom move out of the way like the smart fuckers they are, and Louis gets caught in the windmill, and everyone - except Tom, sodding former-almost athletes - ends up on the floor. 

‘Hilarious like always, but I’m turning in,’ Tom says, delicately picking his way across the battlefield and through the curtain to the bunks. He stops at the doorway and looks back at them. ‘Had a text from Zayn - says he and Niall are hitting some ‘fucking epic’ rock club, getting a train to the next stop in the morning?’

‘He means Paules Metal Eck - or maybe White Trash. We’d better leave if we want to go,’ Ed says instantly, because Ed always knows. Like he never, ever tires of reminding them all after a pint, he was touring before the band. With his guitar on his back and a bag at his feet. With his boots at the end of the couch and his last fiver in his wallet. Or something. Louis tunes out; Ed’s worse than Harry sometimes. 

Harry, who’s jumped up from the couch and does something inexplicable but flaily with his hair and pulls his t-shirt back on, then swaps it for one from the floor that has more rips in it. He settles the metal bracelets around his wrist and the leather cuffs on his other wrist, pushes his t-shirt sleeves up to show his latest tattoos and smudges his eyeliner back on. 

Ed tugs on a hoodie and rolls his eyes. ‘Come the fuck on, Hazza.’

Louis bites back a giggle and passes Harry a quick fist bump on his way out. Normally he’d be joining them, but he’s already in his big loose tartan pyjama bottoms and a comfy hoodie, and now he’s got two couches to choose between. Besides, their week in Berlin’s been a lot of late nights. He should really not. Maybe check Skype. Maybe see if-

‘Oi, Tommo-’

Louis turns so his head and shoulders falls off the couch and he can see Tom in the doorway, albeit Tom is upside down now, and down to his boxers. That’s his fault, not Lou’s. Fucking hipster drummer. Almost as bad as Harry for getting his kit off, but he’s got the excuse that his trunks used to be his work outfit, at least. 

Tom is grinning. It looks weird upside down. How the fuck did that _Spider-man_ kiss even work? He files that away for exploring later. There are bunk beds on tour buses. It could be arranged. He’s pretty sure he could stay upside down using his leg muscles for long enough, and it’s not like he couldn’t call on help.

Lou’s necklace smacks him in the chin, birdcage pendant hitting his bottom lip, and he can feel his t-shirt riding up. He thought this one was too tight to do that. That’s why he picked it. 

‘Does Hammerhead have the same bus as us? Like, are the bunks in the same places?’

‘How would I know? Do you think we’d really fuck on a bus? We’re so much better than that.’

Tom gives him a look. ‘You’re really not.’

Louis pulls himself upright and throws a hackie sack at Tom’s crotch with a grin. ‘Maybe not while you’re all on the bloody buses with us, no. Maybe. And definitely not in the communal areas.’ He pauses. ‘I say _definitely_ but you should know I mean ‘probably.’’

Tom gives him a look and then glares at the little table - which is rickety enough to be shaking visibly just from the road underneath the bus - that’s in their kitchenette. ‘I’m choosing to believe you’re talking about the sharkmobile and just the sharkmobile.’

‘It’s the same, yes,’ Louis answers, tilts his head and toes the power button of his iPhone, which is on the coffee table. No messages. Which is weird. It’s been three hours since Hammerhead’s show finished across the city.

‘And which bunk does Liam usually steal?’

Really, Louis thinks, a man should not look so comfortable lounging in a pair of tiny boxers as Tom Daley does. Who does he think he is with those abs? 

‘Bottom left,’ Louis answers absently, then swears while Tom grins. Louis throws something else at him. ‘Shut up, I only know because Zayn complains about it. Like I said, some of us are better than fucking in a tiny bunk.’

‘Check the bottom left,’ Tom says, thumbing through the curtain to their bunks and going to the kettle. ‘I’m gonna stay up a bit. Make tea, maybe play some Wii Sport, you know, volume up and all.’ 

Just before Louis pulls the curtain aside, Tom adds, ‘Might wanna text somebody before they think he’s been kidnapped or something.’

And really, what the fuck is that all about? 

Louis rolls his eyes at Tom’s smug _you’ll thank me in 3, 2-_ expression, because he’s lucky he’s cute is Tom, and pushes through the curtain to the cramped, dark space with the bunks. 

And stops. 

Louis knows an awful lot about Liam Payne. He was an X-Factor reject with an incredible voice, who came back from placing in the finals with a haircut, his first tattoo (not his last) and a band that he fronts, plays rhythm guitar for, and writes for. He knows how Liam Payne takes his tea, how his voice sounds live and on the radio, and how he can’t spell for shit when he’s tweeting to Hammerhead’s millions of followers. 

He knows the last text he had from Liam was _gonnnnnnna miss u. why isn’t berlin ALWAYS_. Louis had laughed while he texted back _its ur first world TOUR u lovely daftie the point is its not always berlin (i miss u already) (sleep lots on ur week off)_. 

If he’d cried a bit, waving Liam off to his arena while Louis followed the team for Fledgling to their own venue, no one had mentioned it, because Ed, Tom and Harry are bastards, but they’re Louis’s particular set of them. 

But the most surprising thing Louis knows about Liam Payne is that he’s in Tom Daley’s bottom left bunk on Fledgling’s bus. 

Louis grips the door frame so hard his knuckles turn white as he tries to not laugh, which is the only reasonable response to this. 

Liam is lying spread out as he can on the bunk fully-clothed, legs splayed, light blue t-shirt rucked up to show his lower back, and the knuckles of one hand bouncing lightly against the bus floor where the whole arm has fallen out of the bunk. 

He’s muttering against the pillow and Louis is nearly knocked over by something in his stomach, which is ridiculous, because they only said goodbye yesterday, but they were both wound up so tightly to say it for so _long,_ and Liam’s right there, drooling on Tom’s precious London 2012 brand pillowcase. (He’ll forgive Liam because former athletes with additional irritating musical talent have a secret handshake, apparently, that can only be performed at six am with overpriced water. Louis is secretly convinced Tom liked Louis much better as a person after he and Liam started going out, and that he’d swap Louis for his boyfriend in a heartbeat.) 

It’s like a terrible joke, but the best joke. Louis can’t help bending down to lift Liam’s hand - his hand, it’s right there, bigger than his but so warm and still in Louis’s - to put it back on the bunk by Liam’s side before he scrapes his knuckles properly off their floor and tries to play guitar through the pain anyway. 

Louis turns and sticks his head out of the curtain, grins at Tom, who rolls his eyes, and then Louis firmly shuts the curtain over all the way. 

*

Liam wakes up slowly and gingerly moves his legs. They feel heavy and slow, but they always do in the mornings, and he’s gotten used to it. That’s what bouncing around a stage the night before gets you, and it’s fine once he gets going, just like when he used to run. (He doesn’t know how Niall and Zayn do it, but it’s probably a lot to do with how much they sleep.) 

The bunks are quiet around him, which is to be expected, since Niall and Zayn went out to a club and would catch up with the bus by train in the morning. They’re both skinny and little - easier to move than all their equipment, which is what the bus is really for. 

He reaches for his phone, which should be where he always drops it, which is just above his head. That’s Lou’s fault. If he can’t have Louis in his bed, then he’ll keep the phone nearby til he can’t keep his eyes open anymore. 

The thought makes his stomach clench. Liam would much rather not be sent back to the UK to rest for a week, but that’s what they’re doing, apparently, before the next leg of the world tour. Which: he still can’t believe Hammerhead has a world tour. A whole tour. Just for them. 

The phone isn’t there, which is worrying. And the weight in his legs isn’t shifting, and his head is fuzzy from too much sleep, so their driver didn’t wake him up as usual, which is weird, too. And Louis’s elbow is in his ribs, God, he loves him, but he always curls _right_ into Liam’s ribs, and his elbows are _pointy,_ like his jaw, his knees and the rest of him.

Wait. 

Liam swallows sharply and his eyes snap open, heart hammering.

And yes.

That’s-

Louis. 

Curled up into his side and gripping the right side of his ribs, with a death grip on Liam’s forearm where it’s around Louis’s waist, fingers lining up ever so neatly with the edges of one of Liam’s arrows. Liam’s hand is settled on Louis’s pointy hipbone. If Liam moves his chin to the left, he can settle it against Louis’s soft-looking hair, which is flat against his forehead like it only is when he showers and doesn’t bother styling it, so he does that and tries not to wake Louis up by sighing. 

He knows this is a dream, probably brought on by the tiredness that stopped him following Niall and Zayn to the clubs last night - flying on a hangover is their pity party, not his. Liam does sort of need the week off, even if he really doesn’t want to admit it. But it means the magical week where Hammerhead and Fledgling were in Berlin at the same time is over, and Louis has to go on touring Europe with Pitchfork’s darlings, and Liam has to go get ready for the rest of the world. 

Except. 

If it were a dream, would Tom Daley’s photo album be staring him in the face on the underside of the top bunk? 

He thinks... probably not.

Which is. 

Worrying, really.

But also sort of amazing, because _Louis._

Liam was so ready to miss him terribly, but there he is. Like magic. Like the best sort of rest, really, just lying there with the miles under the bus and looking at Louis’s eyelashes against his cheek. It’s times like this Liam lets himself wonder what it would be like if they were in the same band, but Hammerhead and Fledgling are both doing really well, and it feels ungrateful to wish anything about it were different. 

He tightens his arms around Louis. 

Their respective teams, of course, will think they planned it. They won’t complain - a couple of hundred _thousand_ retweets will get you some leeway - but the gentle hints that Liam should warn them about these things will grate a bit. So will the subtle hints that Louis is a horrible influence, but Liam has to give them that one, because Louis _is._

He really did just get on the wrong bus, though. The buses all park in the same hotel car park, and Liam, safe in the knowledge he had sensibly put his bags on the bus before the show, had gone straight onto the bus and fallen onto his bunk, eyes already shut, waiting to be dropped at the airport the next morning.

Except now his bag is halfway to a port in God knows where to get on a massive container ship along with the rest of their gear, and the entire bus, and Liam’s toothbrush and hair gel and phone and ipad and earphones. 

His everything, except his Louis, which seems almost like a fair trade, except Harry’s going to try to get him into a Grateful Dead t-shirt by the end of the week, and he knows he’s going to win, because Harry’s the only one tall enough to steal clothes from, and Liam’s going to run out of things to steal back from Louis in a hurry, and the press are going to flip out, and his mum is going to worry - he should phone home and erm, explain about that - 

But still. 

Louis stirs against him and turns his face up, shutting down Liam’s thoughts by nosing at his chin. His nose is pointy and cold but it’s not _bad._ ‘Hi, you.’

‘Hey,’ Liam replies, and grins. Just grins. He loves Lou’s sleepy voice, rough-edged and relaxed like a slow chorus.

‘So are you gonna go my way?’ Louis says, blinking up at him and Liam grins and their noses are bumping and ugh, morning breath, but whatever, they’re kissing soft and light like they’ve been apart for months, but also like they get to do it every day. 

‘Somebody did tell me to get lots of rest,’ Liam says seriously into Louis’s jaw, which is close enough to his ear by his measure. Louis shifts under him and squirms with a huff, and Liam freezes. ‘Where’s the rest of your band? I’m not shagging if they’re all listening.’ 

‘We don’t talk about that time, remember? That was an accident and even Harry shut up about it eventually,’ Louis mutters back, insistently tugging Liam’s t-shirt up under the blanket. 

Liam thuds his head back against the pillow and notices Tom’s pictures again, then rolls to the side and drags Louis up, pushing him up his own ladder and checking the other three bunks are empty. Tom, the hero, is crashed out on a couch in the living area. With headphones in. _Hero._ If Liam gets a brilliant view of Louis’s arse on the way up to the bunk, then so be it. It’s in the service of the greater good, or at least, Tom not kicking their arses for shagging in his bunk.

Because Liam thinks, looking over the edge of the bunk and seeing Louis grinning and patting the mattress next to him, that’s he’s quite well-rested already. 

*

Zayn looks around the airport lounge, which is just about bearable thanks to the power of sunglasses and painkillers, then to Niall, who is using his guitar case as a pillow, which is ridiculous on so many levels that Zayn cannot deal with him or his peroxide infested hair for at least three hours.

‘Hey, where’s Liam?’

Zayn looks at Niall, but not directly. He’s not forgiven Niall yet for the impromptu busking outside the club with bloody Sheeran and the flailing spinning top that is Harry fucking Styles. They made it away after about six more acoustic renditions of _I want_ and _Kids in America_ than anybody’s four in the morning ever needed. 

Then sits up.

‘Niall! Where the fuck _is_ Liam?’

‘I just asked you that, you fuck!’

Zayn throws the nearest magazine. ‘Shut up! Stop being so loud and help me phone Liam!’

As the phone rings - and rings - Zayn tries not to think bad thoughts. Because Liam is early for everything, especially flights. It’s pathetic and un-rockstar-like and Zayn does not approve, except it’s kind of nice to know someone will be on time and it never has to be him. 

‘What the fuck, Liam, you’re going to miss the flight. You never miss flights. Ugh. Call me back. Be okay and shit.’ Zayn is shit at answerphone messages, so he stops there and starts texting instead. 

Niall barks out a laugh that’s so long and obnoxious that Zayn really does want to smack him. It’s bad enough Niall drinks Guinness and heavy beers and stays skinny like a runt, but the total lack of hangovers is obscene. 

‘What.’ 

Niall shoves his phone in front of Zayn’s face. The display is too dark to see, so Zayn grudgingly pushes his sunglasses up a little with a hiss. 

Then he laughs so hard he cries, because of _course._

DaleyFish: LOOK WHAT TIRED PUP GOT ON THE WRONG TOUR BUS (we’ll clothe him and feed him and return him in a week but if u want him sooner ur gonna hav to go thru lou. good luck w/ that)

@FledglingOfficial: We’ve borrowed some #sharkbait for a week. All tour buses look the same in the dark when you’re tired, right, mate? (@Real_Liam_Payne @hammerheads) 

[image: Harry is pointing at Liam, his hand blurry at the edges and a wide grin on his face, wearing the same clothes he’s been wearing for three days, with the dark tape on the jeans peeling off on his left thigh. Ed is pale and wincing. Tom is in boxers and nothing else, sitting opposite Liam at the small table in the kitchen, where there are plates of fried food. Louis is in Liam’s lap, grinning, his fingers visible curved around the back of Liam’s neck. Liam looks pleased, but shameful, and leans into the hand at his neck while wrapping his arms around Lou’s hips.]

Niall leans back against his guitar case. ‘Right. He’s fine, then.’

Zayn pulls his sunglasses back down and his hood back up, but not before he sends a couple of texts.

* 

_how the fuck did we end up in the right place when we got drunk with those fucking crows and u went str8 home_

_this is the most rockstar thing you’ve ever done liam payne_

_im so proud_

*

THE END


End file.
